There is no exact word for this kind of silence, defined less by any notion of “quiet” and more by a handful of conspicuously absent sounds. No ratcheting click of the sweeping sensor antennae on a Qaos Quartet hunter-killer droid. No distant rumble, minutes long, signalling the arrival of another Observatory atop another doomed city. No shambling syncopated steps to tell me that Candace – even Candace – proved as susceptible to the Night Heron’s heterogeneity field as the Night Heron himself. No cries of hope choked off with that tell-tale hum and final gasp, no rattle and clank of battle armour as futile as tissue paper, no inhuman chuckle from the skies.

The word I should use for this silence, I suppose, is “victory.” But tonight, surrounded by crates upon crates of Blue Epsilon that just three hours ago would have commanded a price exceeding the worth of entire nations – crates that would now be worth more empty – “victory” is the furthest thought from my mind.